


Borrowed Time

by Jicklet



Series: Mages of Thedas [3]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Grey Wardens, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Post-Game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-06
Updated: 2014-02-06
Packaged: 2018-01-11 09:17:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1171348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jicklet/pseuds/Jicklet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A strange thing, to realize you are dead before your heart has stopped beating.</p><p>(Every Warden has an expiration date. Alistair’s has come.)</p><p>Mainly angst, with a touch of silliness. These two can’t stay serious for long.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Borrowed Time

_He’s back,_  Varel says.

She immediately drops the map she’s holding (onto a table, thankfully) and all but runs for the gate, slowing down as she nears to gain some semblance of dignity. She spots him instantly at the head of the group and feels the smile spread across her face before she can help it. 

_How does the sight of him still manage to make my heart flutter, after all this time?_

She mentally takes inventory as she walks up. Everyone looks more or less intact, and none look particularly disappointed or ashamed. 

“Welcome home, Wardens. You have good news for me?” 

They cheer in reply. Pride fills her heart at the sight of them all standing together in their Warden blue-and-greys. Being a leader of her own small army was something she never would have wanted, but it’s turned out all right. With a grin, she sends them to unload and get cleaned up before the full debriefing. A few pat her on the back or clasp her hand before they rush off, exuberant with success and excited to be home. 

Alistair, of course, hangs back. They don’t do grandiose public displays of affection in front of the Seneschal (anymore), but he’s taken off his gloves to better hold her hand. “Hi,” she grins up at him stupidly.

She loathes sending him on separate missions, but he’s one of their more experienced members, and being Warden-Commander means she can’t always go running off whenever she wants. Every time they’re separated, it seems like years pass in the weeks. But something… something has aged him more than usual; worry tightens the lines around his eyes and his smile is stretched thin.

Cold water is thrown on the warm light inside her. 

Unfortunately, whatever it is will have to wait. He’s here, he’s alive, and she has Commanderly duties to take care of before they can be just Kara and Alistair again. She kisses him lightly and sends him off. “Go wash up. Mission report in the main hall in 10.” 

——

The mission was indeed a success. They’re closer to understanding than they were before, and no Wardens were lost in the effort. She stores the new secrets in her mind to be turned over later. Nothing in their mission report explains why Alistair won’t quite look at her. And no one else seems to notice anything out of the ordinary. 

So she heads into the room and begins their ritual: She clears things off the bed while he locks the door. Nerves are causing her hands to shake, but years of practice have granted her the ability to force her voice steady. “So, mister moody pants, what’s—MMPH!”

He’s grabbed her by the shoulders to spin her around, and is now kissing her as if he depends on it to breathe. Her books and notes tumble from her arms and scatter everywhere as she responds with enthusiasm. Being apart from him is so hard.

But this isn’t the normal passion of being reunited. There’s a desperation, as if he’s pouring everything he has into it.

With effort, she pulls away and steps back, intending to look into his eyes, but he dodges her gaze, pulling her into his arms and burying his face in her hair.

She’s truly afraid now. “…Alistair? Sweetheart?” Hesitantly, she puts one arm around him while the other hand rubs soothing patterns through his hair. “Please. We promised we could talk to each other. Just tell me, we’ll figure it out.” She doesn’t say _it’ll be okay._  It’s a promise they’ve learned not to make. “I… I don’t have to sleep with Stroud, do I?” 

That gets a weak chuckle. He finally lets her pull away, yet still his gaze is fixed on the wall. “It’s nothing, barely anything.” He’s mumbling as he fidgets with the ties at the neck of his undershirt. “You can hardly even see it yet…”

The bottom drops out of her stomach. “Show me.” It’s her Commander of the Grey voice. She never uses it on him. 

Still, he won’t look at her.

“Alistair, SHOW ME.” Her voice breaks. _“Please.”_

He finally meets her eyes, but makes no other move. She steps towards him and slowly pulls his shirt off. 

It’s a mockery of how they were supposed to be spending this time. The toned expanse of muscle is marred, irreparably, by a purplish black patch, about the size of her palm, squatting cruelly just under his collarbone. It’s almost a mirror image of the tattoos they’d gotten together, not so very long ago. 

She feels a door close. Their borrowed time is over.

Death was something they dealt with daily. Any battle could be their last. But it was never this… tangible. She couldn’t fight this. No spell she could cast, no swing of his shield could block the inevitable. 

She takes a breath.  _How many left now?_ “I’m coming with you.” 

He winces. “I knew you would say—but, no! Kara—”

“Don’t you tell me no!”  _And I knew you would be a stubborn fool._  “I can’t be that far behind you. I’ve barely been sleeping as it is.” She begins turning things over in her mind.  _What to bring. What to leave behind._  “We can leave in the morning.”  _Who to tell._  “I just need to make the arrangements to pass it over to Nate. He’s ready. And he didn’t join during a Blight, he’s got time.” 

He sighs. “I knew I should have headed straight for Orzammar.”

She can tell he doesn’t mean it.  _Was that supposed to be a joke?_  She laughs without humor. “That would have been a waste, considering I would have headed right after you as soon as I heard anyway.”

He smiles, but it’s at the floor again.

She steps towards him, reaching out a hand.

Hesitates.

Places it over the tainted patch.

He flinches and lets out a gasp, but she can barely hear it over the rushing in her ears. 

She’s done enough healing and looted enough corpses to recognize that the skin is dead. This little bit of Alistair, her prince, her steadfast knight, is dead already.

She closes her eyes against the tears. Later. Later she can collapse under this weight. Later, she will have this moment to hold on to, when terror seized her but she refused to bow to it. 

“Alistair.” Her voice is shaking again. She swallows and tries once more. “Without you… all I have is death. You’re not leaving me behind.”

He looks into her eyes, then pulls her close, breathing into her hair. “Thank you, love. I… don’t really want to do this alone.”

Her cheek is resting over the dead patch. “You aren’t.” 

She pulls away, odd smile quirking her lips as she squints up at him dubiously. “Can you honestly say that if had been me first, you would have packed me a lunch, kissed me on the head and sent me out the door?” 

He laugh is too hard for her simple joke. “’Farewell forever darling, good luck with the darkspawn’.”

“Hahaha. ‘And don’t you dare get cut down by a genlock, that’s just embarrassing.’”

“No lifetime love of mine is getting cut down by less than an ogre. Maybe an emissary.”

 _“Ugh_ I’m not going down to a blasted emissary, those are the worst. Probably a shriek could get me, I’m slow.”

Later, there will be tears. They’ll hold each other, they’ll cry until they can breathe again. But for now… It’s how they’ve always gotten through the awful things, by laughing at them. Together. 


End file.
